Vigilantes Anonymous
by YouMayKnowMeAsAngel
Summary: Overwatch was never a stable organization to begin with, so it's no surprise that the recall is a huge mess from the very start. Lena Oxton will do her best to fight the good fight. Unfortunately for her, the good fight involves more French purple assholes than previously expected. -In which a group of screw-up's bond during a crisis, and practically everyone's gay.-
1. In Which Lena Hates Snipers

**A/N: This fic would not be possible without the amazing a href="** **"littletoughpuff/a because it was her amazing headcannons and ideas that inspired this story and a lot of its characterizations. Please visit her blog, it is worth your time.**

 **It is worth mentioning that I'm going to be "playing around" with cannon, and only working with the bits of the lore that I like. You know, like a usual fanfic writer. I hope to include all the characters, a lot of side stories, and a ton of ships. (God, give me the strength.)**

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It's 8:30 in the morning, half of Lena's face is covered in peanut butter, and Fareeha is being a shit.

Lena knows it's 8:30 am because her alarm clock is the first thing she sees when she opens her eyes. She knows half of her face is covered in peanut butter because nowadays she just assumes when she wakes up half of her face will be covered in _something,_ and peanut butter has a distinct smell when you've slept in it. As for Fareeha being a shit, that she's deduced from the angry Swiss lady to her left.

Angela Ziegler is perched on her own bed with her back towards Lena, jerkily making adjustments to the breast piece of her suit. She's muttering fiercely in German, and Lena has been around long enough to recognize the phrase _cocky little brat._

Lena yawns and stretches, glancing down to make sure that the accelerator hasn't twisted oddly during the night. A tap to its side switches it out of low power mode, and the blue light brightens with a soft whirring noise. She rolls over to face Angela. "Mornin' doc, what's the damage today?"

"I do not understand why she refuses to _listen._ It's not as though she's unintelligent!" Angela spats, ranting as though this has been an ongoing conversation.

"Mmhmm…" Lena hums, only half listening. She slides a finger down her peanut butter covered cheek and pops it in her mouth because why the hell not.

"I have been very understanding, I don't ask for much, just that she follows my instructions!"

"'Course ya do." Lena lifts the covers to discover that yes, she managed to make it to bed with pants on. Good for her.

"I only have one job on this damned team and if that little _dumm fuhrt_ doesn't start listening to me, _Ich schwöre bei Gott—"_

"Oi, slow down there, love. Don't wanna work yourself into a fever."

Angela's head snaps around to give Lena a death glare over her shoulder. Lena quickly holds up her hands up to show she's backing down. "Alrighty then, suit yourself."

Angela goes back to grumbling under her breath. Lena smiles to herself and hauls her tired body out of bed. She can probably guess why Angela and Fareeha are fighting again. It most likely has something to do with Fareeha hiding an injury or avoiding medical, and then Angela eventually and inevitably noticing said injury. Things never proceed positively from there.

Hana has a running betting poll on wether they're going to fight it out or hump it out. Lúcio has money on fighting, while Lena put down some on humping. She likes to think of herself as an optimist.

Having Fareeha on the team after working with her mom is strange, to say the least. Lena had never been too close to Ana Amari, but she certainly respected her. From what she could remember of her, she never talked much about her daughter. Fareeha is an excellent member of Overwatch, and easily meets all expectations. However, where Ana was careful and precise, Pharah is reckless and brash. She's more than willing to charge ahead in battle, but consequently she's the team's weakest link when it comes to avoiding injury, and that's said with Tracer in-mind.

As Lena changes into sweats and goes through her morning bathroom routine, she starts to think about all the ways Overwatch has changed since its start. Back in the good ol' days—as Winston likes to call them—they had a sense of purpose. Their cause to put an end to the Omnic crisis was righteous enough to motivate through the darkest of times. Now, they're facing unknown forces and villains. They don't have the support they used to, and with all Overwatch activities made illegal, they're practically operating in the dark. The base they're currently using is a sort of giant cargo helicarrier, cloaked in Winston's camo technology so as to avoid government scanners.

One thing that hasn't changed is that Lena and Angela still share a room. In the past it was because they were the youngest female members of Overwatch, though that was back when people still gave a shit about genders and ages in shared spaces. Now it has more to do with their lifestyles fitting together. Lena is manic where Angela is precise, and the chaos of clothes and books is usually calmed by Angela's organized system of de-cluttering. Every once in a while Lena puts up a poster of some lewd female model on Angela's side, just to see her blush and immediately tear it down.

(And if every other night Lena wakes up screaming to find Angela at her side to offer comfort, well, that's just an added perk of the living arrangement.)

As Lena exits her room she immediately bumps into Mei, who's dressed in workout sweats and looks twitchy.

"Woah there, what's the rush?" Lena asks, putting her hand on Mei's shoulder to slow her down.

Mei glances behind her before looking up at Lena with wide eyes. "Oh, no, you must understand, I love Zarya to death, and I appreciate how she's willing to help me in my workout routine, but…" Her left eye twitches. "I just can't anymore! How can she do all those reps without dying every morning?!"

Lena bites her lip to keep from laughing. Whenever Mei gets flustered or upset, her face puffs up and turns red, making her look like a squishy little rage tomato. "Have you mentioned this to her?"

Mei shakes her head frantically. "Oh no! No no no, I can't do that! I don't want to hurt her feelings!"

"Mei, love, you're not hurting her feelings when you—"

"Oh no, here she comes!" Mei panics at the sound of nearby heavy footsteps. She hurries away with more speed than Lena has ever seen her use in combat.

Winston lumbers around the corner. He's wearing his pin-striped pajamas, and his glasses are slightly askew. He's munching on a bowl of granola.

He gives Lena a confused look and cranes his neck to look over her shoulder, granola dribbling out of his mouth. "Was that Mei who just ran off?"

"Yeah, she thought you were Zarya."

Winston frowns for a moment, then shrugs, once again deciding it's none of his business what these wacky kids are doing with each other. "Team meeting in a half hour, gather in the lounge."

"Aye aye, sir!" Lena says with a cheeky salute, knowing it will make him wince. Winston claims he hates being referred to as any kind of Mr. or Sir, but Lena has seen him preen like a bird when his fellow scientists give him titles.

He points a warning finger at her. "You better show up on time. We don't want a repeat of the last meeting."

Lena laughs and quickly blinks to his side. "I'm always on time!" She chirps, picking a bit of granola out of his fur.

Winston squints at her face. "Is that my peanut bu—"

Lena hurriedly blinks away. "Gotta go tell the others about that meeting!"

"Oh for God's sake— _no blinking in the base!"_

"Sorry mate, can't hear you over all the blinking!" Lena calls over her shoulder, already running towards the mess hall.

She skids around corners and dodges people passing. Zenyatta happily moves out of her way with a pleasant "Good morning," while Torbjörn lets out a yelp and mutters something dark under his breath about reckless children misusing their tech. Lena reaches the mess hall at top speed, darting through the room to reach the table at the back where Hana and Lúcio are already seated. She narrowly avoids crashing into them by blinking into an empty seat, with her legs on the table and her arms behind her head as if it was all totally planned.

Lúcio slowly turns his head away from his cereal to stare at her with tired eyes. "Do you ever stop moving?" He deadpans.

"Nope! What's the grub like today?"

"Fareeha's cooking," Hana says, not looking up from her portable game. She's sitting cross legged on top of the table, looking bored as her fingers fly over the buttons.

Lena perks up. "Fareeha? Nice! Where's the—"

"She's mad at the doc."

"Oh. Right." Lena swivels in her seat to look back at the kitchen, where she can hear swearing and the banging of pots and pans. She watches as Genji approaches the door, hesitates, then turns and hurriedly walks away. Lena sighs. Whenever Fareeha is upset, her usually amazing kitchen skills dwindle down to violent tantrums which result in burned messes, which she still proceeds to stubbornly eat.

A few blinks and Lena has nabbed an apple from the fruit bowl on the buffet-style counter. Angela likes to keep it well stocked to encourage healthy eating. Lena likes to add several extra bunches of bananas every now and then to annoy a certain overstressed gorilla.

Hana grabs the apple from her before she can get a bite, and takes a huge chunk out of it with a smug little smile.

"Ain'tcha gonna take a picture of that first? Can't disappoint your fans," Lena teases.

Hana ignores her and focusses on her game. Lena snorts and turns to Lúcio to make a joke, but it dies in her mouth when she gets a good look at him. Lúcio is slow to wake, and he usually spends his mornings trudging around the base with his headphones on, but today he looks utterly exhausted. He's slowly spinning his spoon in his cereal with a blank stare, seemingly dead to the world. Lena leans in to see what he's listening to, only to discover silence.

"Rough night," Hana answers her unspoken question.

Lena looks back and forth between them. Hana and Lúcio share a room—much to the annoyance of McCree in the next room over—and the two are very close. If something's going on, Hana would know about it.

Lena opens her mouth to ask, but Hana shakes her head. She slowly puts down her game and starts to sign with her hands. _His mother called last night._

Lena's eyebrows shoot up under her bangs. She quickly signs back. _Trouble?_

Hana winces. _Yes. She wants him home._

 _Big trouble?_ Overwatch might need to step in if things are heating up too much in Rio. _We could help—_

 _The same trouble._

Yeah, that's honestly to be expected. Lúcio has done a lot to help his hometown escape from Vishkar's control, but most of Brazil is still recovering from the Omnic Crisis. Lena keeps wondering if Overwatch should intervene, but they have enough on their plates with Talon as it is. Things have gotten bad enough that Lúcio decided to put his music tour on hold and volunteer to be a part of the recall initiative, which he heard about through underground chains. Lena knows that stopping his tour had been a hard decision for him to make.

Wondering how Lúcio responded to his mother's phone call, Lena starts to sign, _How did he—_

"You know I can see you two talking about me. Like, I can actually see it."

Lena winces and turns to Lúcio, who's giving her a knowing look. "Sorry, I was worried."

"Hmph! She has a right to be! Look at you, sitting at breakfast all zombie-like," Hana scolds him.

Lúcio raises an eyebrow, his mouth twitching. "Oh, like you're so much better. Only been awake for what, two hours? And you're already face deep in a screen."

"At least I'm not wearing headphones without any music playing."

Lúcio blinks and slowly takes off his headphones. "I, uh, I knew that."

"Uh-huh."

"It's part of my look."

"Sure it is."

"It's like that face paint you wear."

Hana leans forward to jut a finger in his face. "Watch it butt-brain, or you're gonna wake up one morning with a full on facial. I'm talking fake lashes and everything."

Lúcio smiles and leans in. "Bring it, nerd."

"Allllright then, let's just take a deep breath and maybe—"

"Shut up, Lena," they both snap at once. Lena falls back in her chair with a pout, crossing her arms under her accelerator.

"You know, one of these days you're going to teach me that sign language of yours, and then I'm gonna be a part of _all_ your secret conversations."

Hana laughs. "As if you could keep quiet for more than two seconds! Sign language is with your hands, not your big fat mouth!"

Lena rolls her eyes. Honestly, it's not like either of them are that good at signing anyway. Hana had grown up learning Korean sign language from her grandmother, and Lena had learned British sign language as part of her pilot training. (Lena suspects the course was mostly for promotional purposes.) When Hana joined Overwatch and they discovered their slightly shared knowledge, they attempted to learn American sign language together. They're both rather shaky at it, but it's something to bond over.

In the middle of their squabbling, Lena catches movement out of the corner of her eye. She watches as Fareeha slowly comes out the kitchen, head held high and toting a bowl of something brown and chunky. Of course, Angela chooses this exactly moment to enter the mess hall. Their eyes meet across the room and they stare at each other for a moment. Everyone around them sort of freezes. A few even shift as if they might have to physically intervene. No one breaths for a good five seconds. The tension's broken when McCree walks right between the two of them, reading something off a tablet and chewing on a banana, clearing not giving a fuck about whatever's going down. Angela's the first to break eye contact. She marches towards an empty table as if nothing is wrong, though Lena notices a certain extra sway in her hips. Fareeha turns away with a scowl and leaves the mess hall entirely. Lena can't hold back a snort. They're both so dramatic, honestly, it's hilarious.

"So, where exactly are you gonna sleep when they start mashing it up, Lena?" Lúcio asks, for all the world seeming as though he's back to his cheerful self.

Lena plays along with a drawn out sigh. "Gee, I dunno. They could always move to Fareeha's room—"

"Nah, I've heard Zarya snores like a bear."

"You would know, Hana."

"Shove it up your ass, froggy."

"The point _is,"_ Lena cuts in before they can start up again, "Angie knows I wouldn't stand for any sort of lewd behavior near my person. They ain't messing about in my room."

Hana smiles and leans forward to rest her chin on her hands. "Oh really? And you haven't partaken in any sort of lewd behavior lately?"

"Nope," Lena says, popping the "p".

"Really." Hana doesn't look convinced.

"Yeah, I've been giving myself a break."

"Woah woah, wait a second," Lúcio holds out his hands like this is the news of the century. "So you're telling me that there've been no girls, no drunken little hookups, _nothing?_ "

Lena leans further back in her chair so that only two legs are balanced on the ground. "Hard to believe, I know, but ol' Oxton has to give the birds a rest every now and then. I can only ruffle a few feathers at a time, don't wanna end up with a string of heartbreaks behind—FUCK!"

Lúcio had kicked the legs of her chair out from under her. She blinks into another chair before she can hit the ground, but the idiot's already cackling.

She glares at him. "Yeah, go on and laugh. Just wait 'til I tell Winston about Ireland."

Lúcio sobers up immediately. "Bro, you promised."

"Ireland? Wait, what happened in Ireland?" Hana asks, scooting forward.

"Nothing anyone can prove," Lúcio says while maintaining eye contact with Lena.

Lena hums thoughtfully. "Think I know of a certain pub owner who would say otherwise."

"Tell meeee!" Hana begs.

"Oh no, it's not for young ears." Lena gives her a pat on the head.

Hana gasps. "Is it sex? I bet it's sex! Lúcio, did you have sex?"

Lúcio throws his hands up the air. "Seriously? Why would that be such a big surprise?!"

"Cuz' you got no game."

"Excuse you, I've got _plenty_ of game."

"You're wearing sweats that say 'Eat Me' on the butt."

"Your point being…?"

Lena's stomach rumbles a bit, reminding her that she has yet to have eaten anything. Now that the kitchen's safe, she might as well rush in and grab something before the meeting—

"Christ!" Both Hana and Lúcio twitch when Lena blinks to her feet. She gives them a crazed look. "There's a meeting in five, in the lounge!" She's gone before they can open their mouths.

Lena races around to warn everyone about the meeting, narrowly missing being shot in the face when she blinks to McCree. (Does he ever take off his holster?) Zenyatta nods while Genji sighs and slowly puts down his fork. She startles Torbjörn again, sending him toppling off his seat into Zarya's lap. Fareeha rolls her eyes when Lena finds her, and Angela tries to remind Lena of Winston's no blinking rule. Reinhardt's the last person she tells, by way of crashing into him and falling back on her arse.

When her vision's clear and she can more or less think straight, she offers him up a grin. "Team meeting in five!"

Reinhardt blinks at her, then lets out a great bellow of laughter. He reaches down and hoists her to her feet, nearly wrenching her arm out of its socket in the process. "Slow down there, lass! Enough of all this rushing about!"

"No use talkin' any sense into that one," McCree grumbles as he passes. Lena sticks out her tongue at his back.

Reinhardt snorts. "Pay him no mind. He's still angry over last night."

"What happened last night?"

"Kicked out of another bar, from what Zarya tells me." Reinhardt clears his throat and says loudly, "Heard the boy can't hold his liquor—"

They both duck when a shot zings over their heads. Reinhardt gives Lena a wink.

They're the last to arrive to the meeting, so all the good "seats" are taken. The lounge isn't so much of a lounge as it is an ex-lab/testing room with a bunch of pillows and beanbag chairs thrown around it. Everyone complains about it, but so far no one has volunteered to actually go out and purchase furniture. Winston tried to make the best of it by adding a large television and allowing Hana to download all her games, and then by encouraging the others to add their own forms of decorations, but the place doesn't exactly feel comfortable. Actually, the same could be said for the entire helicarrier.

Reinhardt pays no mind to the fact that there aren't anymore places to sit and squeezes himself between Genji and Fareeha. Knowing better than to complain, they both simply make room for him. Hana waves Lena over from her sprawled out position on top of Zarya and Mei, but Lena just winks at her and leans against the doorframe. She can never sit still during these meetings, so it's easier for her to stand.

Winston waits until the chatter has died down a bit, then clears his throat and shuffles his papers in an obvious attempt to appear In Control. He glances up at the ceiling. "Athena, could you bring up the images?"

The television flickers to life, and holographic images project over the heads of everyone seated. Lena recognizes the layout of the Overwatch museum. She looks to Winston, who's already watching her. He gives her a nod, then reaches up and enlarges one of the images.

"A day after the recall, Agent Oxton and I heard word of suspicious activity near the Overwatch Historical Museum in Numbani. Further investigation led to a squirmish with two Talon operatives, codename's Widowmaker and Reaper."

Lena notices Angela tense at the mention of Reaper. "Can we confirm at this point that these operatives are…" She trails off pointedly.

"Amélie Lacroix and Gabriel Reyes, yes." Winston says steadily. Lots of shifting and muttering at that. Lena pointedly ignores several looks directed her way. "No matter their identities, their _former_ identities, they work for Talon and are highly professional assassins with plenty of training. Future conflict is to be avoided if it can be helped. With that being said, Athena, lay out plans alpha 56 through 62."

The images of Widowmaker and Reaper are quickly replaced with bird's-eye view maps and layouts of different streets and back alleys surrounding the museum.

"Talon has shown extreme interest in Doomfist's gauntlet. In light of recent events, the museum has decided to move it to a secure location in Washington."

"At least, that is what they have told us," Zarya says with a small smile.

Winston huffs. "Of course, the museum is only capable of trusting us to a certain extent. They are willing to overlook certain aspects of the Petras Act if we are willing to overlook the exact location of where the gauntlet will be stored."

A few grumbles at that.

"Secrecy only harbors betrayal," Genji mutters.

Lúcio points at him. "I'm with ninja Spiderman. How do we know this museum won't turn around and rat us out to the government when we're through?"

"I am not a spider man."

"You climb walls, dude."

Winston starts to look more flustered as the protests grow in strength and number. Lena really wants to step in and help him, but, well, the last op hadn't gone too well. They'd almost been caught by some FBI agents, and the ramifications would have been bad. Some complaints deserve to be voiced.

Unsurprisingly, Angela's the one to try and put a stop to the fighting. "Everyone, calm yourselves. Surely the most important thing is to make sure that the gauntlet is safe."

"Oh, and I suppose the team's safety is to be forgotten, then?" Fareeha snaps. The room instantly falls quiet.

Angela stares at her in shock for a moment before her eyes narrow into blue slits. "How _dare_ you insinuate that I would ever ignore the safety of every single individual on this team—"

"Perhaps I wouldn't insinuate, _doctor,_ if you actually did your job!"

"Perhaps I could perform my job more to your satisfaction if you stopped throwing yourself at the enemy like some half-witted rookie fresh out of training!"

Genji and Torbjörn hold Fareeha back when she starts to get up. "If you continue to treat me like a child, then I will continue to treat you like an overbearing, useless nuisance," she spits.

Oh yeah, the gloves are off now. Lena's having none of that. _"Oi!_ Who the hell do you think you are, huh?!" She marches forward to plant herself in front of Fareeha. "How's about you pull your head out of your arse and actually think about what you're saying? I know for a fact that Mercy's saved your blue behind more times than anyone else on this team, and believe me, a lot of it's thanks to your death-wish battle maneuvers!"

Fareeha opens her mouth to say something, but Reinhardt lifts a hand to her shoulder. "The time for arguing is over, Fareeha." She glances at him, frowns, then sits. She has the brains to look a bit sheepish.

Lena bobs her head. "That's more like it. Now then." She pivots to face the rest of the group, fists on her hips. "Let's get one thing straight, or as straight as you bunch of poofters can get." Hana snorts at that. "The people we protect don't trust us anymore, and quite frankly, sometimes I agree with them. But that's not the point. This job isn't about the glory. If you lot want to be celebrities then I will gladly invite you to march your sorry behinds right out the door. So we don't know all the information. So what?! Our job is to protect and serve, and that's what I want to do!"

Silence. Lena holds her ground, though the back of her neck is breaking a sweat. She tries not to focus on individual people and simply glares at the room in general.

Torbjörn breaks the silence with laughter. He's loud for such a little man, and his wheezes and knee slaps easily draw attention. "Dammit if I'm getting myself into this mess all over again, but I never signed up because it was easy! Count me in!"

"I agree. In order to regain the people's trust, we must earn it." Zenyatta stares up at the plans from where he's floating above a pillow. "This gauntlet has the potential to be quite dangerous, if placed in the wrong hands."

After that, everyone agrees to be a part of the plan, though some are more adamant than others. McCree looks grumpy, and Zarya is muttering under her breath. Then again, she is likely to be against anything Zenyatta is for. She has yet to fully trust the omnic monk.

Despite the few grumblings, they all agree to protect the gauntlet. Winston lets out a sigh of relief. "Then it's agreed. We will rendezvous at point 1, then escort the payload down route A while routes B, C, D, and E will be covered by—"

"Wait, hold up, will everyone be in on this?" Lúcio asks with a raised hand, despite not being called on.

"Well, yes. The museum requested that we all be present, and I think that, erm, given the special circumstances of the, uh, mission…" Winston awkwardly trails off.

Lena shares a worried look with Angela. So far they've only done small missions with three to four agents working as a team. They can barely work together with that small of a group, so Lena can only imagine the chaos that will ensue once they're all out in the field.

Huh. This might be fun.

Winston starts giving everyone tasks, reading off his notes like a nervous drill sergeant. "D. Va, you'll be up above in your MEKA, following the payload route while keeping watch from at least a hundred meters."

"Yes sir!"

"Don't call me that. Genji, I want you ahead of the payload, quietly taking down any threats that might reveal themselves."

"Understood."

"McCree, keep watch over routes B and C, and be ready for any last minute deviations."

"I always am."

Lena, realizing she's still standing in the middle of everyone, quietly makes her way to the back of the room. As she waits for her name to be called out, she studies one of the maps of the area. Numbani sure has changed in the last few years or so, with new buildings and high-rises popping up all over the place. She mildly observes that a lot of the buildings have high balconies and leveled rooftops, with good views over the routes that they…would be…escorting…

Bugger.

"Agent Oxton."

Lena jumps to attention. "Yep! That's me! Agent Oxtin! Totally paying attention."

Winston gives her one of his patented unimpressed looks. "Right. _You_ will be scouting along all the routes, keeping an eye out for anything…" He pauses as if to search for the right word. "Suspicious."

Lena's shoulder's droop. She knows where this is going. "If by _suspicious_ you mean tall, purple, and French…?"

Winston clears his throat. "Yes. That would be suspicious."

Lena huffs out an annoyed breath and glares up at the ceiling. Of course. What was she expecting? So far, Lena's been the only one who's been able to distract _her_ long enough to save a few precious minutes of combat time. For some reason, Lena hasn't been killed yet, despite the many opportunities. She has a sneaking suspicion she's being toyed with.

She sort of tunes out of the rest of the pre-brief, silently fuming over her last encounter with the sniper. Lena had been able to keep her busy for a good long while, before being pinned with a complex mid-air twist. At least, that's what she thinks happened. That part's rather fuzzy. She _does_ remember a chuckle in her ear and a kiss on her cheek before the assassin made her escape. Lena had trudged back to base annoyed, flustered, and unsuccessful. Two minutes later she discovered the purple lipstick residue on her cheek was poisonous. Angela was able to heal it as best she could, but Lena was still left with a kiss shaped burn for two whole weeks.

She only realizes that the meeting's over when McCree bumps into her on his way out. Angela is quick to follow, her jaw looking tense. Lena watches as she takes a sharp turn down a hall leading to the workout room.

"What's wrong now?" She asks Lúcio when he walks up to her.

"Weren't you paying attention?"

"No."

"Right. Winston gave us healers specific people to watch over."

"Oh. Who'd I end up with?"

"Nobody. You're impossible to heal."

Lena snorts. "You lot just can't keep up."

"Oh, hold up, I can race your orange butt into the ground any damn day of the week and you _know_ it." Lúcio crosses his arms over his chest and juts his chin out. He thinks it makes him look intimidating, but really it just makes him look like a dork.

"The only thing you'll be doing to my butt is staring at it while I leave you in the dust, slowpoke," Lena counters with a grin.

"Ooh, she's cocky. Ya'll hear that?! She's cocky!" Lúcio calls out to the now empty room.

"Yeah yeah, but why is Angela all huffy? What did…" She hesitates, and Lúcio slowly nods. Lena lets out a small gasp. _"No._ Surely he wouldn't!"

"Oooh yeah, matched them up then ran out before they could get a word in."

Lena shakes her head in disbelief, and turns to look down the hall towards the workout room. "Pharah and Mercy. You know, what really gets me is that they would be such a good team if they would just—"

"Bang it out?"

"Well, yeah."

Lúcio nods sagely, then says in a horrible imitation of Zenyatta's voice, _"The hawk and the sparrow could hunt as one, when they are not hunting each other."_

"That was horrible."

"No wait, I can do you. _Oi there, gov'nah!_ _'ave at it or I'll knock your block off, ya bloody 'obnockah!"_

"I don't sound like that."

 _"Cheers, love! The homo is here!"_

"Cut it out or I'll bring back Lucy."

Lúcio's eyes widen. "No. Don't, seriously."

"I bet Hana would loooove it," Lena sings, waltzing her way out of the lounge.

"No, no no no, we agreed you wouldn't call me that anymore!" Lúcio cries as he chases after her. "Lena, I'm dead serious, I thought we had a deal!"


	2. In Which Lena REALLY Hates Snipers

**A/N: This might seem like I'm updating very quickly, but really I just wrote a really long first chapter. So I split it in two. And then I was too lazy to post them both on the same day. So yeah.**

 **Here's a really gay chapter.**

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The mission hasn't even started yet, and already everything is going to shit.

They're all packed together in a waiting room in one of the smaller buildings in Numbani, hiding out until the streets can be cleared for maintenance, a routine drill, or whatever excuse they've cooked up this time. Lena looks around the room and huffs a tuft of hair out of her face, trying not to grimace at everything she sees.

Fareeha—Pharah, now that she's on duty—is checking her amo supply for what must be the millionth time. Torbjörn is next to her, polishing his metal arm with an almost unsettling amount of reverence. In the opposite corner of the room, Mercy is attempting to talk D. Va down from where she's hanging from a chandelier, her MEKA off to the side. Lena doesn't know how she got up there in the first place, and she suspects Hana doesn't know either. Reinhardt is sprawled out over three waiting room chairs, snoring so loud he's shaking the floor. McCree is sitting in a chair next to him, furiously chewing gum and glaring at everyone else. (He chews bubblegum before missions ever since Mercy made him quit tobacco.) Lúcio is trying to keep calm by listening to music, but the fool can't stop himself from blurting out a few lyrics every now and then. Zarya's pacing in front of the exits, muttering under her breath in Russian. Mei's watching her nervously, blushing whenever Zarya says something particularly violent. Genji is having a rather heated conversation with Zenyatta, and the monk actually sounds irritated, which up to this point Lena had thought to be impossible.

As for Lena, she's perched high on a windowsill, scanning the balconies and rooftops outside for any signs of a sniper.

"For Christ's sake, cut the damn pacing. It's helpin' no one," McCree suddenly snaps.

Lena turns her head so fast she gets a muscle cramp. Dear God, please don't have him be talking to _her._

Zarya stops mid-step and turns to give McCree a dangerous looking smile. "You've got something to say to me, cowboy?"

McCree looks her up and down. "That's all depending on you, darlin'."

Lena sucks in a breath. Lúcio takes off his headphones, and Pharah looks up from her amo.

"I am not your darling," Zarya says in a calm tone, though Lena can see her shoulders tensing.

McCree shrugs, either not knowing the danger he's in or not giving a shit. Probably the second one. "Fair enough. But you can be rest assured that everyone here knows just how much you hate this city, so there's no need for all that pissed off bullshit you got going on."

Zarya cocks her head to one side. Those around her immediately back away. Mei starts to move forward as if to try and stop her, but Zarya holds out a hand. "Surely I have a right to be, as you put it, pissed off. This city celebrates the very thing that destroyed my country."

"Then don't be a part of the mission. See? Simple."

"Perhaps for you it is. You, an outlaw who has lived most of his life either running from a fight or failing to finish one which he has started," Zarya growls.

McCree pops a bubble with his gum. "You best watch your tone there."

"This is foolish, both of you—"

"I will not take orders from a machine," Zarya snarls, her eyes snapping to Genji. Lena can see a vein pulsing in her neck.

McCree snorts. "Sweetheart, you take orders from a monkey."

"He's not a monkey," Lena calls out, but is ignored by everyone.

Zarya moves as if to grab McCree. He immediately reaches for his gun, which causes everyone in the room to either back up or move in. Lena's about two seconds from blinking forward to disarm both of them, which would mean sawing off Zarya's arms and legs.

"Alright, so I've got the go-ahead from the…uh…" Winston is standing in the entrance to the waiting room, blinking at the scene in front of him. Zarya's inches from McCree with her hands clenched in fists at her sides, and McCree has one hand hovering over his six shooter.

Winston lets out a long, tense sigh. "What is it this time?" He grumbles.

"Ignorance. This time, it is ignorance," Zarya says, though she looks a tad embarrassed.

"Really now? 'Cuz I would think it's just pure fuckassery—"

"Jesse, we all know what you think." Winston looks as though he's aged forty years in five seconds. He rubs at his face, knocking his glasses askew. "Look, how about…just, what's rule number one?"

"Don't use the bathroom after Reinhardt."

"Hana."

"Hey, I'm not joking. You should have smelt it after San Juan. Lena knows what I'm talking about."

Lena nods emphatically.

"I repeat, rule number one?!"

A moment of silence, then everyone says together, "No killing each other before missions."

Winston huffs out a laugh, looking slightly manic. "Correct! It shouldn't be this difficult!"

Yeah, try telling that to a group of supercharged weirdos, each of them carrying their own personal load of emotional baggage and varying degrees of trauma. Lena watches as Zarya and McCree back away from each other, though they never break eye contact.

Winston enters the room slowly, once again unsure. He was never meant to be a leader. Lena was the first real friend he had during the Overwatch training academy, and she knows his strengths. Winston can rally together an army, and he will continue to fight for what's right, but he was never meant to head the battle charge. That job used to belong to Reyes. And then Morrison. And now no one.

The team's certainly feeling the absence of a leader today. The lack of control means that anything could happen in battle. That uncertainty leads to distrust, which leads to lives lost in the field.

"Or for god's sake, it's just an escort. We do those all the time," Torbjörn growls.

Pharah stands, automatically straightening into a battle ready position. "What did the museum say?" She demands.

"We're free to start moving."

Lena frowns. Something's not right. "But…?"

Winston gives her that glare he gives her whenever she sees through his secrecy and calls him out. "The museum will be offering no back up if things take a turn for the worse," he begrudgingly admits.

Three seconds of silence, and then everyone erupts.

"How are we supposed to escort the payload with no outside help?! We're already spread all over the map!" D. Va shouts from above.

Zenyatta moves forward. "I'm positive that if we stay focused on our goal—"

"Cut that out, no one gives a shit," McCree snaps.

"Winston, I cannot be responsible for the entire team! I'm covering the two main routes and without assistance—"

"Mercy, you'll be fine. I've seen you work in worse conditions."

"I've lost soldiers in better conditions!" Mercy looks pissed.

Lúcio starts laughing. "This is insane. Guys, we can handle this! I believe in us!"

Lena nods frantically and blinks into the center of the group. "Yeah! I could take on fifty of those Talon goons, no problem!"

"Not if one of those goons is flirtatious."

Lena whirls around. "You got something to say, Genji?!"

Genji folds his arms over his chest. "Only that you can be easily distracted by a pretty face."

Lena scowls and moves towards him, rolling up her sleeves. "I'll show you a pretty face—"

Zarya suddenly grabs her around the waist and lifts her up in the air. Lena tries to struggle her way out, but it's pointless. Blinking away might harm Zarya when they're this close, so she just goes limp and hangs in midair, glaring at everything.

"Isn't there someone else we could call for?" Mei asks. She looks a bit worried.

Winston is starting to panic. "Well, uh, not exactly. You were the only agents who responded to the recall, and at this point…"

"We're on our own," Pharah mutters. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

"C'mon, guys! We've got something to fight for! We can—"

"Zarya, do us all a favor and gag the Brit before she starts reciting the Overwatch pledge."

Lena immediately starts struggling again. "Let me at 'em, let me knock his stupid hat off his stupid head—"

"As if you ever took the Overwatch pledge, cowboy," Zarya snaps, tightening her grip on Lena.

"Everyone calm down, this is ridiculous—"

"You calm down!"

 _"Das ist Irrsinn…"_

"I can't work in these conditions."

"Cry me a fucking river."

"We must find peace—"

"Peace can kiss my tattooed ass."

"Your ass has a tattoo?"

"This is all pointless, the fighting should be in battle, not in here."

"No, seriously, Torbjörn. Do you or do you not have a tattoo on your ass?"

"I will not risk the lives of my team in something so reckless."

"Am I the only one questioning the potential ass tattoo?"

A soft beeping sound emanating from Winston's watch interrupts the chaos. He growls at it, shuts off the alarm, and turns his glare to the team. "Alright, listen up. Everyone's going to go out there and protect the payload, and I'm done hearing complaints about it. And Lúcio, if I ever see you so much as glance at Torbjörn's behind, you're on dish duty for a month."

"But, the tattoo…" Lúcio makes a wild hand gesture in Torbjörn's general direction, who clears his throat and tries not to make eye contact with anyone in the room. Lena spies Pharah craning her neck to get a look at his butt.

"So…are we doing this or what?" Mei asks. Her little robot buddy makes a soft whirring noise and shifts in its quiver.

"Whatever we do, it must be decided soon. I do not like waiting," Genji grumbles. Zenyatta puts a hand on his shoulder, but Genji shoves it off.

A few more start to complain again, and Winston puts his hands in the air. "All of you, this is getting ridiculous. Talon is heading our way as we speak, and if we don't get out there—"

Suddenly, several stupid things happen in quick succession. Torbjörn catches Lúcio trying to tug on the waistband of his pants, so he takes a swing at him with his hammer. He misses and hits Pharah's foot instead, and the resulting clang of metal on metal startles D. Va, who looses her grip on the chandelier and falls on top of Reinhardt, who wakes up with a shout and crashes through the three chairs he'd been sleeping on.

Reinhardt coughs and blinks at them all in confusion. After a moment's pause, he asks, "Did I miss anything?"

Before anyone can say anything, the distant sound of gunfire causes the entire room to freeze. The next second, they're all leaping into action. D. Va scrambles off of Reinhardt and into her MEKA suit while Pharah puts on her helmet, and the two of them soar off into the sky. Mercy swears under her breath and rushes after Pharah, her golden wings lighting up as her suit comes to life.

Lena glances up at Zarya as the rest of the team hurries out into battle. "Love, don't take this the wrong way, but I can't feel my toes."

Zarya makes a sound of surprise and quickly lowers Lena to the ground. "Sorry."

Lena shakes the blood back into her legs, then throws Zarya a wide grin. "Much obliged!" She pivots on the heels of her feet and blinks out of the waiting room. As she races through the streets of Numbani, she scans rooftops and balconies for any sign of a sniper.

 _"Tracer,"_ Winston's voice grumbles through her communicator.

Lena inwardly sighs. "Yeah?"

 _"Be careful out there. Don't do anything brash."_

She chuckles and takes a sharp turn into a back alley that should take her down route A. "Winston, when have I ever been brash?"

The communicator's silence says more than Winston ever could.

The escort goes on for a while. As per usual, Talon has enough surprises up their asses to keep the team busy. Everyone's pulling their weight and more or less working together. Of course, there is the occasional hiccup. McCree seems hellbent on annoying Zarya by "saving her life" as many times as he can. While an outsider might view his actions as heroic, the team knows it's all bullshit. Zarya hates it when anyone tries to take her shot. She brings her weightlifting mindset into the field, turning anything into a challenge. Every time McCree shoots down a Talon goon who's going after Zarya, Mei has to almost physically stop her from turning her pulse canon on him.

McCree and Zarya aren't the only ones having difficulties in combat. For some reason, Genji seems reluctant to be anywhere near Zenyatta. The pair are usually very close, so something must have happened to cause tension between them. Lena would ask about it, if she fancied a katana up her arse. At least Lúcio seems to be enjoying himself. His shouts of laughter rise up above the gunshots and other battle chaos. Unfortunately, he's having a hard time staying with the group, if Winston's orders over the communicator mean anything.

All of this, and Lena is bored. For once she's been sticking to the plan, staying on the outskirts of the fight and searching for her target. The only problem is that her target is nowhere to be found. Not that she actually wants the deadly assassin to show up. It's just, well, Lena believes she's entitled to _some_ action. You know, the fighting kind. Not the sexy kind. She knows what her priorities are, no matter what Genji implies.

Lena swears under her breath and moves to sit on the edge of the rooftop she's standing on. It's never a good sign when she has to convince _herself_ of something.

She mulls things over as she observes the battle below. She's just confused is all. Lena hadn't been lying earlier when she told Lúcio and Hana she's been girl-free these past couple of weeks, but it's not of her own choice. The recall initiative hasn't exactly been very flexible on free hours, so she hasn't had the chance to go out and meet anyone. Then along comes this sniper who thinks she can just prance around with her stupid French accent and mess with Lena's head. The whole thing's a big game. Confusion leads to frustration, which leads to irritability, which leads to comments from her teammates, which leads to more fights, which leads to bad to bad to bad to worse.

"All work and no sex makes Lena a dull girl," she grumbles to herself.

 _"Uh, Tracer? Are you alright?"_

Fuck. Her communicator. Lena immediately snaps to attention. "Sorry! Just, uh, talking to myself!"

Pharah hesitates before speaking again. _"Stay on your toes. Don't get distracted."_

Lena sighs and gestures at her surroundings with one of her pistols, though she knows Pharah can't see her. "I'm fine, honestly! No signs of the Widowmaker yet. At this point I don't think she'll show—"

Lena's interrupted by a sharp clicking sound and a powerful gust of wind that blows past her cheek. Her body reacts before her mind does, and she rolls to cover behind an electricity generator on the roof. Her communicator's gone. It's been shot out of her ear. Lena allows herself to take a single breath before blinking away from the generator. She sees a flash of purple in the corner of her eye, and she's on the next rooftop in a matter of seconds. The Widowmaker is lining up a shot at the generator when she blinks behind her. She carefully aims her pistols at the back of the sniper's head.

"'Bout time you showed up, love. I was getting worried."

The Widowmaker tenses, and Lena sees a flash of bright amber before the sniper whirls into action. Lena anticipates the kick of a leg and jumps over it. She fires her pistols but hits nothing but the rooftop as the Widowmaker drops to the ground and rolls. Before Lena can act she feels the cold press of a gun barrel in the curve of her spine.

"I appreciate the concern, _chéri,_ though it is in vain." Lena freezes as hot breath ghosts over her neck. The gun barrel digs further into her back. "Drop your weapons."

Lena does. Well, sort of. She throws her pistols up in the air and recalls behind the sniper. She catches her pistols and moves to line up her shot, only to have a gun be swung at her like a club. She automatically dodges the attack, but a kick to her chest sends her to the ground.

The world goes fuzzy for a moment, and when Lena blinks her eyes open she's staring down the barrel of a rifle. The Widowmaker is standing over her with her feet planted on either side of Lena's hips. Her scope is on, covering the top half of her face. Lena winces as the harsh sunshine glints off of Widowmaker's so-called suit. Really, the thing is more like lingerie than something one wears into combat. It doesn't leave much to the imagination, and Lena's got a _lot_ of imagination.

"When faced with imminent death, most would be focussed on the weapon, not the body of the attacker," the Widowmaker drawls in a bored tone.

Lena tears her eyes away from their downward journey. "Just looking for a good place to stick a knife," she chirps.

The Widowmaker laughs, or does her version of a laugh. It's a combination of a condescending hum and a light titter. Lena hates it. It reminds her too much of Amélie.

"Children should not be playing with sharp things," the Widowmaker says, flashing a bit of white teeth.

Lena huffs. "Oh yeah? Well this child is about to—"

The Widowmaker cuts her off with a disappointed tisk. "You are forgetting." She slowly lowers herself down until she's straddling Lena's hips, her rifle never moving from its mark. "That unfortunate hunk of metal you have strapped to your front, it needs recharging, yes?"

Lena presses her chin to her chest to get a good look at her chronal accelerator. Its light has dimmed, meaning it needs a few seconds to be fully operational. With both of her pistols lying a few feet out of her reach, she has no hope of escaping anytime soon.

"Trapped. Like a bug in a web." The Widowmaker unlatches her scope, sliding it back to reveal her smirking face.

Lena rolls her eyes so hard it almost hurts. "Wouldja' quit it with the spider references already? Don't need you shoving it down our throats every chance you get."

The sniper's eyes travel lazily down Lena's body, seemingly unimpressed by what she sees. "You are not one to talk of subtlety."

"Subtlety schmutlety, I get my results."

"Hmm. Results." The Widowmaker moves her rifle forward until the barrel is pressed against Lena's forehead. "Any last words, _mon chéri?"_

 _Yeah, mind getting your bum off my crotch?_ Lena thinks. She goes cross-eyed looking at the rifle, and tries desperately not to think about how she would very much enjoy this position under different circumstances. (Those different circumstances involve not being held at gunpoint. And usually mood music.)

"I'm waiting," the Widowmaker purrs.

Lena grits her teeth. She's gotta stall for time. Luckily for her, she's a master of distraction.

"You're not gonna shoot me."

Ok, maybe not a _master._

The Widowmaker cocks her head to one side, though her expression never changes. "Oh? And why is that?"

Lena swallows and tries not to giggle. The assassin's ridiculously long ponytail is ticking the inside of her thigh. "You like a challenge. This? This ain't a challenge. It's too easy."

A sharp eyebrow slowly rises. "I see my reputation precedes me."

Lena cracks a smile. "Nah love, just your narcissism."

The Widowmaker shifts ever so slightly, causing Lena to take in a sharp breath. That should _not_ have felt as good as it did. The sniper speaks in a low rumble, her voice barely audible from the battle still raging in the streets below. "Perhaps you're overestimating your own importance. You are merely a distraction to me, a nuisance. Nothing more. Only a worthy opponent deserves a beautiful death."

Lena suppresses a shudder. It's truly disgusting how this woman—this _monster—_ talks of her kills. She practically waxes poetry. Lena wouldn't be surprised if she got off on it.

 _Don't think about getting off. Don't think about getting off._

"Why all the chit-chat then? Go on, get it over with!" Lena snaps. She can feel the accelerator warming up. Just a few more seconds…

Gunfire from the streets below. The Widowmaker smiles. "Your

 _copains_ are missing you. I wonder how long it will take for them to notice your absence?" Her finger tenses on the trigger.

Dammit. She's calling her bluff. Lena needs a distraction, anything.

Wait. She could…no, that would only end in her getting shot. Right?

 _C'mon, Oxton. You're no coward._

Between one heartbeat and the next, Lena weighs her options. She needs to subdue the Widowmaker before she gets shot, her accelerator is a half second away from being fully charged, her communicator's useless, and her pistols are out of reach.

Fuck it.

Lena thrusts her hips upwards, causing the Widowmaker to grunt in surprise and fall forward. Lena grabs the barrel of the rifle with both hands and moves her head to the left. A shot rings out, Lena's deaf, but she finally has enough charge for a recall. She sends the Widowmaker flying off her in the process. A few blinks and her pistols are back in her hot little hands, and now the real fun— _fight—_ begins.

The Widowmaker fires a round of bullets as Lena darts out of the way, crouching low. Lena returns the shot but misses when the Widowmaker turns and fucking _leaps off the building._

"No, don't do that!" Lena groans, rushing to the edge. She peers over and carefully scans the streets below, but sees nothing. She does however notice the poison gas mine flying at her face. She ducks and leaps off the building as it detonates behind her. Lena holds her breath as she falls, knowing firsthand how unforgiving that gas can be.

She blinks into her landing to soften the blow, and she's moving as soon as her feet touch the ground. The Widowmaker is no doubt up above her, peering down her sniper's scope. Lena tries to be more sparse with her blinks, not wanting to run down her charge. Her recall time is already diminished, so she has to be careful.

A roar through the streets announces another shot, and the stop sign just behind Lena clangs sharply. She immediately blinks away. The Widowmaker doesn't miss; that was a warning shot.

More shots ring out as Lena runs, and she knows she's being toyed with. She picks up the pace as the bullets move closer, and she tries to pinpoint their origin. Lena's moving so fast she's kicking off the walls of the buildings she's passing. She's tired, her chest is starting to ache, and that last bullet had just grazed the hairs on the back of her neck, but holy fuck if she isn't having the time of her life right now.

Lena lets out a crow of laughter as she turns a corner at full speed, jumping high and blinking over a dumpster. Call it unhealthy, but this is what she lives for. High speeds and adrenaline, those moments of escaping death by the inch. With her heart pounding in her chest and a smile growing on her face, Lena Oxton cheats her way out of getting shot.

Getting stuck, however, is a different problem entirely.

She's racing through an alley between route B and route C when she steps in something very sticky. She panics as it wraps around her feet and trips her up. A slow Tracer is a useless Tracer, so Lena tries to detach herself from whatever is holding her still. The stuff is the color of tar, and it appears to be stretching across the alleyway like a web. She yelps as it starts to move, wrapping around her legs and torso. She struggles some more, tries to blink away, but the gunk follows her wherever she moves. Lena frantically begins to blink in rapid succession, but only manages to somehow get herself hanging upside down. The gunk wraps itself around her accelerator, and to Lena's horror she starts to go numb in all the places the web is touching her. Her breathing picks up as she begins to truly panic. She wouldn't dare blink or recall in this position. She can barely move a muscle, much less jump ahead or back in time.

"Well then," a heavily French accent coos. The Widowmaker steps into Lena's line of sight from the shadows of the alley, where she had no doubt been watching the entire time.

Lena practically snarls at her. "What is this stuff?!"

The Widowmaker slides off her scope and takes in the mess Lena's enveloped in. She smiles. "Oh, just a little something Talon has been working on. It is not finished, I am told the final product involves paralyzation."

Lena's eyes widen. "Y-you don't say?"

The Widowmaker rolls her eyes and takes another step forward, careful not to step in any of the web. "The numbing sensation is harmless."

"Well, color me reassured!" Lena snaps.

"Hmm." The Widowmaker's eyes zero in on the blue glow of Lena's accelerator. "I'm surprised you fell for the trap. Perhaps you are more foolish than I originally thought."

Lena fights against the web, shoving her shoulders and hips around in a desperate attempt to break free.

"The more you struggle, the worse—"

"Oi! Shut it!"

The Widowmaker holds up one hand in a mock surrender, though the affect is somewhat ruined by the rifle in her other hand. She watches Lena fruitlessly struggle for a few seconds, then says, "I could always assist you."

Lena snorts. "Right. Why do I get the feeling your assistance ends with a bullet in my skull?" She focusses on moving her finger to the distress signal on her upper thigh.

"It is just an offer. All you would have to do is ask nicely."

Lena's eyes snap to the sniper's. She's leaning against her rifle, practically oozing with condescending amusement. Lena's nose crinkles. So she's being teased, is that it? Two can play at this game.

"It's about time someone at Talon gave you a handicap. Without this webbing stuff, you'd never be able to shoot me."

The jab reaches its mark. It's no secret that the Widowmaker takes pride in her work. The assassin's eyes narrow and her hand tenses on the rifle, but she doesn't move to attack. Huh. Interesting. There might be something going on here.

Lena decides to follow her gut. "Y'know, I've always found it kinda funny how Talon needed a sniper so bad. No offense, but you're not exactly a hard hitting attacker. On average you take down, what, around six men per mission? Seven if your lucky?"

Lena leers triumphantly when the Widowmaker's nostrils flare. "It is not _luck,"_ she growls, her accent noticeably thicker.

Lena shrugs, or shrugs as much as she can in her current upside-down position. "Call it what you will, but it makes no difference. The only impressive thing about you is how you can squeeze yourself into that ridiculous suit everyday." She laughs. "I mean, c'mon, it's practically a second skin—"

A flash of quick movement, and suddenly Lena's got a knife under her chin. "I would watch your tongue, _petite fille,_ before I am forced to cut it out," the Widowmaker snarls through gritted teeth.

Lena takes a deep breath. Here it goes. "But you won't, will you? You've been ordered not to kill me." The Widowmaker blinks. Lena smiles. "Not as dumb as I look, huh?"

The assassin remains perfectly still, her expression revealing nothing. "I have my orders, but what makes you think I will follow them?" She slowly presses her knife into Lena's throat, not too much, but the warning is clear. "A slice is as clean as a bullet."

"Ya' think so?" Lena feigns dis-interest, though she can feel her heart pounding in her head. The tip of her finger just grazes the distress signal. Surely her team is already looking for her, right?

She hisses as the knife cuts through her skin a bit, just enough to draw blood. The Widowmaker holds the blade up to the light, letting the red liquid shine. For one insane moment, Lena thinks she's about to lick it off. The idea is….interesting. Wait, no, disgusting. Yeah, that's a better word. It's definitely disgusting.

Lena closes her eyes as the Widowmaker brings the knife back to her throat. It's fine, she can handle pain. She's Lena fucking Oxton, she can deal with this, she can—

"I am locating Agent Oxton."

Lena's eyes flutter open and meet the Widowmaker's. They stare at each other in silence as Zenyatta floats closer. Surprisingly, the Widowmaker seems more interested in what Lena will do rather than what she doesn't want her to do. A very gay part of Lena notices that the assassin's amber eyes have flecks of brown in them.

"Ah, I have located Agent Oxtin."

 _"Well don't just stand there, do something about it!"_

"I am not standing."

 _"For the love of all things—SHOOT, DAMN YOU, SHOOT!"_

The Widowmaker throws down her knife and grabs her grappling hook as Zenyatta starts launching discord balls. She engages her hook and flies upwards, twisting in the air to dodge his shots. Lena sighs as a helicopter comes into view, allowing the sniper to have yet another escape. Then she must pass out from the blood rush to her brain, because the next time Lena opens her eyes she's surrounded by the team and Mercy is propping up her head as she hangs five feet above the ground.

Lena cracks a smile. "Hey Angie."

Mercy forcefully tilts her head up. "You have a cut," she says. Her voice and fingers are cold.

"Yikes." Lena cranes her neck to look at her upside-down team. "Who ticked off the doc?"

"Take a wild guess," Lúcio grumbles, glancing darkly at Pharah. His dreads are falling out of their bun, and he's missing a skate for some reason.

Pharah looks as though she believes she's justifiably angry, as per usual. Lena notices she's leaning heavily on her right leg before her vision is obstructed by a large furry mass of worry-wart.

"Lena, are you alright?" Winston frets, crouching down so his face can be in front of hers.

Lena frowns at him playfully. "Agent Winston, we're still in the field."

Winston gives her a look which screams This Shit Is Too Tiring For Me, A Scientist. "Obviously you're fine," he grumbles, then straightens into an upright position. "Tracer, mission report."

"Erm, right. Well…" Lena tries to get a grip on her senses as Mercy suddenly lets go of her. She gives her report as she swings from side to side like a bright orange pendulum. "The Widowmaker shot my communicator out of my ear, and I engaged in combat with her. That's the proper term, right? Engaged in combat? Sorry, blood's making my head fuzzy. Anyway, she pinned me for a bit, threatened to shoot me, but I got her right back. Oh, by the way Winston, if there's any way we could decrease my blink and recall charge time, that would be splendid. So then she starts shooting at me from above and I'm running around and having just a grand old time when next thing ya' know, I've run into this ugly mess. Tried to get out of it but only made it worse, as you can probably tell. Then she starts acting all funny, threatening me, teasing me, even offering to help at one point. So I start thinking, why hasn't she shot me yet? I mean, here I am, at her mercy—no pun intended, Angie darling—and all she's doing is speaking her stupid French and vaguely threatening me."

"By cutting you with her knife," Mercy mumbles under her breath.

"I know! Weird, right?"

Winston doesn't look too convinced. "So all those other times she was shooting at you, she wasn't _shooting_ at you?"

Lena bobs her head. "Yes! Exactly! Wait, if by _shooting_ at me you mean actually trying to kill me…"

"I don't know what I mean," Winston sighs.

"Why would she not be trying to kill you?" Genji asks. "The Widowmaker seems to hold a grudge against you."

"Perhaps karma is taking its toll," Zenyatta muses.

"I don't know about that, but anyone working for Talon has got to have some ulterior motive." McCree pops a bubble with his gum. "I reckon they've got some sort of plan involving the Brit."

"Y'know, my name's Lena? I've known you since the first Overwatch?"

McCree turns to Winston, hooking his thumbs in his belt loops. "All I'm saying is that there's gotta be a reason the she devil left her alive."

"Call me Tracer if you want. Hell, you can call me Oxton, just not _the Brit."_

Winston scratches his chin and looks up where the helicopter had taken off. "It is strange how only the Widowmaker showed up, and not Reaper."

"Seriously, what if I started calling you _the American?_ Ok, wait, that doesn't have the same affect."

"Try moron."

"Oh yeah, thanks Zarya.."

"Lena," Winston warns, and Lena instantly shuts her mouth. He's tired, and she really doesn't want to give him any further headaches.

But there are some questions she needs to ask. "How did the escort go?"

"We were excellent! We fought like warriors!" Reinhardt exclaims.

Mei gives him a fond look. "We made it through the checkpoints and pushed back Talon. Mission accomplished!" Her little robot beeps cheerfully.

"What I don't understand is how you got yourself into that web," Pharah says, looking at the stuff with a raised eyebrow.

Lúcio steps forward and gives it a sniff. "It's web? Huh. Hey Genji, you're no longer Spiderman."

"How disappointing."

"Look, I was under a lot of pressure!" Lena cries, trying to defend herself. "She was shooting at me, goading me into it!"

"And I'm sure that you needed a lot of convincing," Mercy says with a knowing look.

Lena glares at her. "I don't need you lecturing me on—" She's cut off by the bright flash of a camera. Hana lowers her phone and begins tapping madly away on it. Lena stares at her in shock. "A picture? Really?"

"Don't want to disappoint my fans," Hana says with a completely dead expression, though Lena can see a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

"Wait, is that payback for this morning? With the apple thing? Christ, when I get outta here—"

"When _we_ get you out of there, you are going straight to medical," Mercy interrupts her with a pointed look.

Lena winces. "Oh, right. That's what I was…going to say."

Mercy ignores her. "Torbjörn, do you happen to have your pliers on you?"

"Sure I do!"

Lena watches in horror as Torbjörn pulls out a pair of giant pliers from God knows where. "Angela, what did I ever do to you?" She whines as Torbjörn starts to merrily tug at the web by her elbow.

Zenyatta rubs a metallic hand down one of the walls of the alley, cocking his head to one side. "So she did not kill you, despite her many opportunities to do so?"

"Yeah, and when I asked her about it she basically confirmed she was following orders."

"Why would Talon want you alive?" Winston asks under his breath. Lena doesn't like the look on his face.

"She might have been bluffing. Maybe Talon just wanted her to be a distracting this time," Mei pipes up, though she looks unsure.

Lena doesn't like where this is going. "Guys, I'm fine! She probably just didn't want to draw attention to herself. Besides, not killing me should be counted as a positive, right?"

"A Talon assassin not killing someone should be counted as troublesome," Genji says with the tone of someone trying to explain something to a small child.

Lena tries to twist her body around so she can glare at him. "And I'm sure _you_ would know a lot about assassins, wouldn't—FUCK!" Lena yelps as she's suddenly cut loose from the webbing and tumbles to the ground.

Torbjörn leans over her with an apologetic smile. "Ooh, sorry lass!"

Lena ignores him and accepts Mercy's offered arm to help her up. Boy, is she gonna feel _that_ bruise in the morning.

"We better get back to base and make sure the gauntlet is following the right path in transit," Pharah announces.

Mercy steps forward pointedly. "Not in that condition you're not. In fact, you all could use a trip to medical."

A few grumblings at that, but no one challenges Doctor Ziegler. Well, Pharah does, but that's just a given.

Pharah juts her chin up in the air and peers down her nose at Mercy. "I don't need you fretting over me. I am perfectly fine."

"Oh really? Care to explain to the team why you are favoring one leg over the other?"

Pharah shifts slightly but doesn't back down, the idiot. "It is just a muscle sprain. It will heal."

Mercy rolls her eyes. "You take your landings too hard. Just let me look it over—"

"I am _fine,"_ Pharah insists, practically looming over the doctor.

Mercy stares up at her for a moment, then takes a step back with a resigned sigh. "Fine." She suddenly grabs her caduceus staff and swings it around to hit Pharah in her injured leg. Despite wearing her suit, the soldier keels over with a loud wheeze. Mercy blows a tuft of hair out of her face. _"Now_ you are injured enough to have me look you over."

It's kinda funny how the whole team parts before her as she walks away, though Lena doesn't blame them. Post-battle Angela is a force to be reckoned with. Reinhardt puts an arm around Pharah and helps her move forward, and the rest of the team follows suit. Winston stays back to walk with Lena, out of earshot of the others.

"Are you sure you're alright?" He asks, not looking at her. Lena knows it's his way of giving her some privacy to work through her emotions.

And she does. She really does. Lena takes a few seconds to think about the mission, the fighting, the talking. She thinks about the past and the events that led them all here, and how some of them were never supposed to be here. She thinks back to five years ago when she saw a certain ballet starring a certain dancer.

When Lena's done thinking, all she can say is, "I don't like being assigned to her, Winston."

He nods. "I know."

And that's all he says, because that's all that he _can_ say. Lena glances over at him and takes in his tired frame and slightly limping lope. Not only was Winston never meant to be a leader, but Lena never wanted him to become one.

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 **A/N: Yo. Have some angst with that crack**


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